“You are not in a condition to go. Stay
here and protect the ladies, for it is a lonely place,
and there may be wild animals in these woods, who
knows?” With which words the young American throws
himself on the horse’s back and urges the animal
along over the road they have traveled, followed by
the anxious eyes of Lady Ruth.

CHAPTER XVI.

A FRENCH WARRIOR.

John digs his heels into the sides of the animal he
bestrides, and urges him on with every artifice known
to a jockey, and considering the darkness, the rough
nature of the road, and the weariness of the beast,
he succeeds in getting over the ground at quite a respectable
rate.

Thus, meeting no one on the way, he finally bursts
upon the village of Birkadeen much after the manner
of a thunderbolt from a clear sky, and dashes up to
the office of the stage line, which, as may be supposed,
is managed by Franks.

A Frenchman has charge, and upon his vision there
suddenly bursts a dusty figure, with hair destitute
of covering, and clothing awry, a figure that has
leaped from a horse bathed in sweat; a figure he imagines
has broken loose from some mad-house, yet which upon
addressing him shows a wonderful amount of coolness.

“Are you the agent of the stage line?”
is the first question fired at him.

“I am Monsieur Constans. I have ze charge
of ze elegant equipage line zat you speak of as one
stage,” returns the Frenchman.

“You remember my passing through here a little
while ago, bound for Algiers?”

“Parbleu! zat is so. I am astonish.
What for are you back on ze horseback, too. Mon
Dieu! have ze robbers been at it again? Ten
souzan fury, and ze cadi promise zat we have
no more trouble wif zem.”

At the mention of the word John experiences a sudden
chill, remembering that he has left Lady Ruth and
Aunt Gwen upon the loneliest part of the road to Algiers;
but becomes somewhat reassured when it also crosses
his memory that the gallant professor and the soldier
hero of Zulu battles are there to defend them.

“You are mistaken. The miserable vehicle
has broken down,” he says.

“Ciel! is zat all?”

“All! Confound your impudence, and isn’t
it enough when two ladies are almost killed outright
by the accident? All! when we’ve been rattled
about like dry peas in a pod, until there’s hardly
a square inch of me that doesn’t ache.
I’ll tell you, monsieur, what you are to do,
and in a dused hurry, too. Order out another
stage and fly to the scene of the wreck without delay.”